I’m a mature, educated young woman who does professional rewarding work, has a healthy sexual appetite and a close, tightknit social circle. And instead of watching the stupid Red Sox win the world series last night with an attractive man I (used to) screw, I was in bed fantasizing about a life in which I have a boyfriend and we adopt a puppy together and cook Thanksgiving food and snuggle.
I love this blogger. I relate to this “sexcalator” syndrome and the perspective on this is something I’m trying to take to heart.
When Crazy Cupid Love posted this, it was also exactly at the right time. I was bummed about this one fellow. Then I wasn’t bummed about him. Then I had sex with him twice this week. The cycle is destined to repeat, I’m sure. Why must I be so attracted to men who say nice things I suspect they don’t mean? “I miss you, btw” is the secret code you need to email me, and I will surely allow you into my pants.
1. = A 7-foot wide house I would kill to live in. Neat!
I’m only at 61.1%. When one particular person gets fired, it will jump to 72%. I’m 65% confident that the firing will happen.
Stair porn is one of the best things in my reader. I guess I’m into architecture. I want to build a tiny house with sexy stairs.
Sometimes, when awesome ideas present themselves, I kinda want to get married.
I am partial to mini-schnauzers, and of course scraggly mixed breeds, but this breed of dog reminds me of Sprocket from Fraggle Rock and I want one.
This doesn’t really counteract your above daily “police shoot someone for no fucking reason” news, but it is quite delightful.
I’m always looking for new charitable work!
I want either an adorable dog or a little girl I can corrupt into a lifelong feminist. Adorable.
Hey, have we traveled back in time 6 years? I am currently supposed to be writing a paper that should have been done earlier this week rather than updating my emo blog.
Recently, I was perturbed at work about the way my overzealous supervisor was behaving. It was a legitimate perturbation (perturbance is not a word, it should be) but today, in a larger discussion, it was brought to my attention again that I’m a little bit hard on myself. There are some ways that this affects my perspective on things and I am always working on taking in others’ feedback through my oversensitive filter.
The thing is, I’m very competent at my job. I know that, I feel that, and everyone at works validates that. And so, why is the idea of making a mistake so threatening to my sense of self. Because it is. Logically, I know that I’m not perfect and don’t need to be. My impulse somehow, my tiny inner aggressive instinct, is to believe that it’s all or nothing. I’m the best or the worst. And I think I’m the best more often than not so then I think, yeah, I’m someone with good self esteem. I’m the best at self esteem!
Heh. I actually think I have a good sense of what I’m good at and not so good at. I’m just competing with this emotional, irrational, and insidious other…thing. The trance of unworthiness in mindfulness speak. Sometimes I’m not even aware of it, but it’s there. Enough that a caring and insightful person could tell me that she thinks there’s a part of me that doesn’t believe I’m good enough and be right.
My supervisor was still being a dick.
Can I claim temporary insanity on the last post? Similar to when I don’t shave to keep myself from sex on a date, I had a long email conversation that night with my once (and future?) selfish sex friend that ensured he’ll be turned off for the near future.
Actually, we just had an honest conversation and I expressed the same depths of insecurity and longing I did here. It was good. He’s selfish and I’ve excused it in the past, mostly because when I’ve been with him I’ve been selfish too. He’s not an asshole and I enjoy(ed?) his company. And his beautiful, enthusiastic anatomy.
BUT I don’t think I’m seeing him in the near future because (after Sex Meltdown 2013) I just might finally be free of the impulse that I have always had- ie, any rejection in any area of life -> must obtain validation -> most efficient and easy way -> SEX.
A million two years ago, when my then-fiance ended our relationship, that is exactly what I did (WITH THIS SAME GUY EVEN) and, frankly, it worked and I did the more difficult emotional work later.
A very short time ago, I met someone truly awesome who I really like and it seems that it was this potential great thing that never came close to happening, despite that I wanted it to. But I’m not high with a charming, naked man in my room, pleasuring away the discomfort.
Maybe because I went into work Friday and was really, seriously moved by the support I have there, even when things are sucky. Maybe because I had class today and it was super interesting, actually fun, and really gratifying.
I do have perspective. I have this full life and all this potential. (I’M JUST THE BEST AND MOST AMAZING ZEN PERSON AREN’T I! Gross.)
But whatever, my vag is back online, minus the sadness, cause I’m going to get mine. Just on my terms.
I’m sure this is typo-laden but I’m bed bound.
I am the worst! Well, I’m inclined to think men are the worst but that is too cliche so I’m going with me. I. Am. The. Worst.
A few weeks ago I took an ill advised late night trip into the city, to fuck my most reliable of fuck buddies. These past couple years, I’ve had the most sex with this person and his selfish but impressive sex style in combination with generous marijuana supply made us good buddies. But that last time was a horrible experience for many various ways. He thought it might be the last time, because I have been honest about my casual sex fatigue, which made him weird and turned me off. Everything hurt and I left in less than an hour. I felt guilty and obligated and you don’t need to be a women’s rights detective to understand those are bad circumstances to have sex under. I was mad at myself.
Meanwhile, my brother and roommate knew where I was going and openly judged me for it, as he has witnessed this person have less than great character. Worst weekend excursion in recent memory.
He apologized for…whatever…and said he was really drunk and I shrugged it off and told him, “It’s at least partly my fault.”
Last night he texts me under the flirty pretext of his shirt having been left in my bedroom July 4. He is not the best fuck buddy! I should be able to admit that after all these various issues and demand better more respectful more pleasurable sex for myself. Instead I am so fucking tempted to say FUCK EVERYTHING and, hey buddy, fuck me. And just keep the whole thing going so that, at least, I get laid.
The truth is, honestly, I don’t want to fuck ANOTHER fucking new person. I don’t want to find out if it’s better or worse. I DON’T WANT TO MEET ANOTHER HORNY HUMAN BEING WITH NO INTEREST IN ANY OTHER PART OF MY LIFE. We are all entitled to seek out sexually contact. I’m entitled. But I have to be honest that at this moment in time, I am not a detached sexually confident person with great boundaries. I’m a person who is nearly convinced that I’m never going to be in a romantic relationship that I want to be in.
I’m fucked up inside my brainspace about this very fucking issue. This is not because of sex, sex didn’t ruin me, and it is annoying to admit that I feel so profoundly shitty right now because, as usual, I WANT TO BE QUEEN OF CONTROLLING MY ISSUES and not be weak or anything less than perfectly well-adjusted. I have to be, because otherwise, it’s like conservatives win! Jesus is the answer. Quick, someone sew my hymen back in!
What are my choices?! Have some sex, be gratified, get a cuddly sleepover or lock this psychologically vulnerable vagina down?
Mother of fuck.
I took needed time off from work today and I’m sure I will pay for it later. It was a good choice, though. My body feels middle-aged sometimes and I need to stop putting off my yoga goal.
My dad called both me and my brother to tell us he needed to take his dog to the vet tonight and it might mean putting her down. And it did. She had a good run. Mostly it is sad because he sounded so sad.
I really feel for my father and I hate those moments when I know he is in pain. He’s really proud. But he’s having a hard time.
I don’t like having to worry about my parents’ well-being, with money especially because I know how much it sucks and I can’t help and a big part of me resents that they aren’t more secure so that I could relax and not worry…
And then there’s all that baggage because I do blame my father for his past behavior and I sometimes wish we didn’t have a relationship so that again I wouldn’t have to worry.
Recently, I have been focused on the nastiness, the dark stuff that shaped me in weird uncomfortable ways and it’s fair to say I’ve forgotten a lot of good stuff.
My dad was the best dad on field trips. He is made sure I knew I was loved and beautiful and smart. I was not allowed to drive in the snow ever. I was not allowed on trampolines. All he cared about in the world, I think, were his children.
He made pancakes every morning for a long time because we liked them, but I got sick of them. I kept eating them because he seemed to enjoy doing it so much that I wanted to pretend that I liked them. That pretty much sums up our whole dynamic right there. I don’t want to let him down.
I’m so sorry that his (our) dog died and that he is alone.
On one hand, my heart is in trouble and I have my typical neurotic nature to contend with. On the other hand, I’m having fun and I feel really good.
I’ve reached a level of frustration with the new person I met and was so excited about so that feels very comfortable and familiar!
I was confident that we both wanted to get! to! know! each! other! and spend time together and just see. Then the last two weekends have put a damper on that idea. Being busy is something I understand, having obligations, yeah. But don’t find pockets of time (e.g., a weeknight, after your child is asleep – I never felt compelled to sneak into someone’s bedroom as a teenager and don’t now – or an hour or two that we can meet up someone) where you are available and would like to see me just so we can fuck. It very well might be my problem. I very much wanted to have sex with this person again and do all manner of things and he is not wrong on the face of it to suggest that we do that.
But like, GOD. DAMN. IT. If that’s the best I have to offer or all you can make time for then, yes, I will feel let down. I will be nervous about engaging anymore and developing feelings to find out later that sexually things are amazing and that is the extent of your interest. I will be hurt by that. I’m a little hurt now.
Am I crazy and ridiculous to feel slighted? We are just maybe not on the same page. I am so great at being fatalistic but, maybe this was a few fantastic dates that never would become anything.
I don’t think I have to play stupid games about how soon after meeting I “let” someone get into my pants. I don’t want to. I don’t have any interest in the kind of man that buys into those rules. I want to do what feels natural and I also want to know that there’s serious sexual chemistry before I’m invested. But if I am sexual, it’s like there’s this other fucking set of confusing expectations. I don’t/didn’t know this guy well enough to feel secure in the idea that he is interested in me in any other way than sexually, so for me, that creates this specific nagging fear that (like so many past sexual partners have indicated) I’m a great lay and that’s the best part of me.
The more I try to articulate this the more I can see it is my fucking baggage. I don’t care. I know what I need to feel comfortable, during the beginnings of things, and if I’m not getting it then I guess that’s that.
It’s safe to say I’ve regained some sense today, as far as my current lovesickness goes. I’m caught up at work and feeling even more impressed with myself than usual. Fleas are about to be hunted.
A week ago I drove up to spend the night at my mom’s. We had a nice visit. And I had a nice 3 hour drive to reflect on things on my home. I felt pretty raw. As much as I thought that I have dealt with my upbringing and my complicated feelings toward each of my parents, there is certainly a lot there to unpack.
I maybe haven’t explicitly gone into this, but basically, my father has difficulty managing his anger. (More accurately, he makes no apparent attempt to manage his anger.) He, still, is angry a lot. I think he probably has very valid reasons for carrying around so much rage. It is also clear to me that some fucked up combination of brain chemicals contributes to this issue for him. Until my mother separated from him permanently (after at least seven attempts), she was the target of most of this anger. He never really hit her, so in his own mind, he was not a violent person. But please take my word for it, if my father corners you and screams at you, replete with a fine mist of spit droplets flying at your face, it is a violent experience. It isn’t yelling. It is something else, a physical, observable and visceral transformation in him that I will never be able to explain fully to someone who hasn’t seen it. Nobody does angry like my father. If there was an award for most intimidating husband who Has Never Laid A Hand On a Woman, he would win it. There was no limit on the words he would use to make my mother feel small, stupid, and scared. Sometimes things would be fine and he would be calm but rage was always a possibility. Calm nights were nice, but I don’t think I ever stopped feeling the anxiety of trying to anticipate the next blow up.
When you are born and raised in an environment where you feel a lack of safety and security, there are a lot of different ways to react and adapt to that, healthy/unhealthy. I did more than walk on eggshells. At some point in my early childhood I realized I had some power over my environment. My dad loved me so much. I was his little girl. His first biological child. I was inclined to perform and be adorable and please authority figures. He was all about me and I knew it. I thought I could keep him happy and keep things calm if I pandered to him. My job became being delightful. THIS LOOKS LIKE A JOB FOR DAD TAMER 24/7! CAPTAIN DISTRACTION OF ADORABLE KIDITUDE!
The time before he came home from work was the worst part of my day. I dreaded the thought of my father walking through the door. Then he would walk through the door and I would fucking run to him and demonstrate how thrilled I was he was home. It was crucial in my mind that I pretend to be as excited as humanly possible to see him, because this was the first line of defense against all that scary behavior I knew he was capable of. It didn’t always work. There was a cloud sometimes that might or might not develop into something. The worse mood he seemed to be in, the more I turned on the charm.
I wonder even now sometimes if my insides match my outsides. I try.
I have been aware of this coping skill and the weird, conflicted feelings and resentments that I have developed because of it. It’s fucked up. It’s so fucked up. I didn’t purely love him the way you should love your parent, that is the truth of it as far as I can tell, but I pretended and I pretended really well that I did. I didn’t want to be Daddy’s Girl.
[That's not to say that I never enjoyed spending time with him, because on top of everything else, he was fun, loving toward me and my brother, funny, and seemed to know everything. Plus, most of the time, I knew I was not going to get yelled it. I was in his favor, given all the campaigning I did. I knew how to avoid pissing him off, like we all had learned to the best of our abilities.]
The thing that somehow I never saw in all of this was my mom’s perspective on things. Which was, here is a man who terrorizes me on a regular basis whom I can not really escape from and he is my daughter’s favorite person.
I can’t remember a time I wasn’t desperate for my mother’s affection. I clung to her and I wanted so badly for her to validate me. She couldn’t. She was fighting her own battle anyhow. She was poor and overwhelmed and depressed. The worst thing, though, the thing that is killing me is that she felt like I was on his side. And for a very long time, I don’t think she stopped thinking that.
I’m heartbroken about that. And I’m angry about that. I feel cheated out of the relationship that I wanted so badly to have with her as a child. It’s not her fault, and I don’t know how much time I spent thinking that it was.
My mother told me last week she remembers sitting in counseling with me, when I was about 11 or 12, feeling attacked and frustrated, while the counselor asked her to look at me, because I was sobbing. The counselor said, “Look at her, she is in pain. You need to tell her that you love her.” Fundamentally, my mom could not understand that then. I don’t remember that particular counseling appointment but I remember that I was in pain, because that is a good way to characterize most of that time of my life. She couldn’t see that, because most of the time I could only express my own feelings in anger. She was a safe person for me to be angry with. And I was angry all the fucking time. I don’t remember that appointment, and I don’t remember if she was able to look at me and say “I love you” in that moment. Or not.
Hamlet has obtained fleas. It’s very unfortunate and frustrating because he is an indoor cat. Also because, gross.
I’m working a short week this week because of the holiday. It has been pretty incredibly sucky. Apparently, it is a bad idea for me to use my vacation time. Or, it’s a good idea if I enjoy returning to do a bunch of shit that other people should have been able to handle in my absence in addition to the regular shit I do, which is too much for one person on its own. Oh but don’t worry, I’m paid very little.
Despite those two issues (three including being slightly poor), I’m so fucking happy right now. I’m like IN TROUBLE in regard to this new fellow because I am 1) very smitten and 2) very anxious about being this vulnerable. I would say I’m experiencing 90% glee and excitement and 10% terror. It’s so new and maybe that’s why it’s fun.
I don’t know if I’ve ever been so excited about somebody this soon. That is a lie. I definitely have not been this excited about somebody this soon. I want to just see him and cuddle him and cook dinner for him and learn how to knit and make him a sweater. [Forget fleas, I'm gross.]
So fuck. That is scary. But I’m going to be fine no matter what. I have the rest of my life together in an unprecedented way. In reality being open to this person is not brave, it is just what people do, but I feel brave.